


Poor Communication

by morrezela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam inherited a library and a fortune from their great-grandfather. Castiel is the mechanic who moves in across the street and drives Dean insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I don’t even ship Dean/Cas, but I somehow got inspired by this prompt on a blindfold. 
> 
> This is technically AU, but I tried to write it with canon in mind.
> 
> All mistakes you find are my own.

It wasn’t that Dean hated the mechanic that set up shop across from the library. It’s just that he hated his willful ignorance. He could not count the number of times that he attempted to have a conversation with the man, and Cas just did that stupid, infuriating head tilt and said, “I do not understand.”

And he’s so, so blasé about everything! If Dean didn’t know any better, he would swear that the guy was a robot. A robot with a really gravelly voice whose maker didn’t properly oil his voice box, so it was cursed to forever sound just this side of human. And then Castiel ran away from his maker. (Because seriously, who named their robot Castiel if they weren’t a mean son of a bitch?) But all Cas knew was how to look at his own innards, so he became a mechanic.

And yeah, Dean had tried out that theory on his brother. He had yet to be allowed back in the fiction sections of either the adult or young adult categories. Sam would only give him permission to look at the child’s section of fiction, and if Dean had to read one more fairy tale, unicorn book or poem about a frog, he was going to go stab Castiel’s stupid blue eyes out.

He and Sam had inherited the library from their great-grandfather on their mother’s side. Apparently the bastard was filthy rich. Rumor in town was that he had killed the town millionaire, which Sam told him meant more back in the old days than it did in the current, and took over his fortune as his own.

Dean had always thought the whole story was a little hinky. Who the Hell let some ass come in and murder the rich dude in town without saying a thing to the police?

In any case, they’d been living it up in their shitty Kansas home when one day a letter came to tell them that some fancy lawyer had determined that Sam and Dean were the sole heirs to Great-Grandpa Campbell’s fortune.

At the time, Dean had been working his way through night school to get his Associate of Arts degree in Business Administration. The college hadn’t offered one in accounting, and his dad’s auto shop had been slowly sinking under due to bad bookkeeping. They needed a loan from the bank, and there wasn’t any way that Dad and his business partner were going to get another one without some proof that they could turn their ship around.

So Dean had been working a forty hour shift at the garage and going to school to help him make heads or tails of the books. Sammy had been angry and resentful of their drunken mess of a father. He was a seventeen year old mass of emotions that Dean just knew was going to erupt one day. And Dean had clearly seen that in the near future he was going to lose the one good thing in his life. It was all a matter of which day Sam would choose to finally have it out with their dad.

Dean had clung too long to the happy memories of his childhood: the ones where Dad wasn’t obsessed with the fire that killed their mom. He kept hoping that one day their father would sober up and make amends with Sammy, and they could all be a family together, but the letter changed that.

He was going to inherit a boat load of money and a mansion and a privately owned and operated library. All he had to do was sign on the dotted line, and when Sam turned eighteen, they’d co-own a fortune. He’d have to leave their Dad behind. John Winchester refused to be far from Mary’s grave, and even if he were to come with, he’d just become the town drunk the same as he was in Lawrence.

It really wasn’t that much of a choice. Dean loved his dad, but he knew he needed out. He’d spent too long parenting Sam. There’d been too many times that Dean Winchester had been forced to beat up on some bully bothering Sammy. Too many times when it was Dean shuffling his way to the parent-teacher conferences because Dad was drunk off his ass, and the only reason that he and Sam weren’t taken away was because Dad was personal friends with the sheriff.

Sam had been all ready to go. Dean wasn’t sure that he even bothered to hear anything beyond, “leave Lawrence,” but then again, Sam had long since been planning on that anyway.

Moving to the mansion and all of its responsibilities hadn’t been easy, but then again, their lives never had been. Dean traded his shifts at the garage for hours spent repairing a mansion. He got his associate’s degree, but changed his major to freaking library science so he knew what to do with all those books in that stuffy old building.

Sam altered his plans for a brilliant career being an underpaid prosecutor for the justice system and worked on his business law degree so that he could defend them and manage their great-grandfather’s investments.

Digging through the musty innards of the mansion and the moldy vaults of the library, it had become apparent why Grandpa Samuel had high tailed it from his father’s home. Great-grandpa Campbell was a weirdo. He had more weaponry than you could shake a stick at, more potions and herbs than a New Age shop and more books on creep crawly things than was ever necessary for anybody.

They struggled for those first few years, but it wasn’t anything like their earlier troubles. The work was transformative, and somewhere in there, Dean could let go of that chiseled and angry young mechanic who wore second hand jeans and cheap flannel shirts.

He replaced his white tees with oxford shirts, his Carhartt jacket with soft sweaters and an occasional suit jacket. His rough, intimidating growl got pitched lower and softer to be welcoming and understanding. He sounded intelligent and even though he was still handsome, he curtailed the wild urges that had him pegged as the town stud back in Lawrence.

This was a home he could build for him and Sam. He had the opportunity to make Winchester a family name that was respected instead of pitied.

And yes, when he caved in and got glasses, Sam insisted that he buy the gold wire rimmed ones. He’d been going for the horn rimmed ones himself. He thought they’d be more traditional, but Sam argued that the wire rims were far better. He said that horn rimmed would make Dean look too dated and old fashioned.

And hey, Sam was the business genius, so Dean followed his instructions.

The library was nonprofit, but the condition of keeping their inheritance was that the library remain open and in good condition. So Dean spent his days puttering around in old texts and sending the odd fax or email scan to people calling in from all over the country.

It was amazing the number of rednecks that came to visit or call, looking for information from some of Great-Grandpa’s weirdo books. Dean had never thought that hicks would be so interested in the supernatural. Hell, he’d been one of those rednecks, and the only thing he’d been concerned about was money and when exactly he was going to become dependent enough on alcohol to turn into his beer gutted father.

Then Castiel moved in across the street, and he has been the bane of Dean’s existence ever since.

It was just damned annoying. Dean had tried to be friendly and welcoming, and the bastard gave him that condescending head tilt like Dean was just some pretty boy who never took his head out of a book.

At first, Dean thought that maybe the guy was just socially stunted, so he tried talking cars with him. Just because he hadn’t been a grease monkey for years, that didn’t mean he’d forgotten one thing about engines or drive trains or rear axels. Dean knew cars, still fixed his own. He kept the Impala in tip top shape because she had been the one to take them out of the perdition of Kansas and deliver them to their own personal Eden. She deserved to be honored for that.

But did Cas see that? No. He was just as bad as all the other mechanics that Dean had ever met. He was always slightly scruffy, and his black hair never was quite perfectly in place. His robotic voice was probably the result of smoking too much, and just because he seemed to have a nice body under all those clothes, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a drunk whose metabolism hadn’t crapped out on him yet.

Sam thought that Dean was being ridiculous. Sam, the ungrateful and overeducated bastard, thought that Dean had some major lust going for the mechanic next door. He pointed out that children often inherited traits from their parents, and Dean had always favored their mother’s side. And Mom had clearly had a thing for the rough and tumble mechanics.

Of course, Dean denied that because it was preposterous. So Sam started making increasingly lewd comments about how Cas had to be good with his hands and how maybe Cas’s voice was that way because of his excellent deep throating technique.

When that didn’t work, Sam managed to find ways to make Dean go talk to Castiel. It was amazing and devious, and if Sammy didn’t have a problem with seizures, Dean would’ve smacked him in the head for doing it.

It was something that Dean didn’t like to think about. Most days Sam was just tall, strong Sam. His body was as intimidating as a moose and his face as charming as a fox with his stupid dimples. Sam was the envy of any man right up to the point that you found out about the headaches and the fits. They’d been to doctors and herbalists and anybody that might aid them, but the bottom line was that no medication really helped, and Sam no longer had a driver’s license because of it.

Dean drove them into town from the mansion grounds, and when Dean couldn’t drive, they paid a local teenager to ferry Sam around in a car that Sam had purchased for himself and only gotten to drive once before the seizures hit.

Sam worried that Dean didn’t date because of him. There wasn’t a week that went by that he didn’t try to have a discussion about how the mansion was big enough for three families to live in, and Dean could totally bring somebody home while Sam lived in another section or floor or what have you.

Over time, Sam became less and less subtle until it came to the point that when he let the air out of the tires on the Impala, Dean only half-heartedly yelled at him for the damage he could’ve caused to the rims. Sam knew there was no way that Dean would let the weight of the car rest on them all day just the same as he knew that Dean’s portable air compressor was sitting back in the mansion’s eight stall garage.

Castiel though, he had a very nice compressor. Sam swore that if Dean would just go across the street to talk to the guy, he would even give Dean the stem covers back and save him from the embarrassment of actually funding the asshole mechanic’s shop more than was necessary.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas greeted flatly as Dean entered his shop. The guy did that like, all the time. Never just Dean or Dean-o or even freaking Winchester, it was like he enjoyed referring to Dean by his full name - like Dean was a ponce who wanted to be talked to like that.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean started off gently. He fiddled with the hem of his angora sweater vest and glanced at the suspiciously clean floor of the garage. The shy routine worked sometimes, and it had the benefit of not having to actually make eye contact with the arrogant asshole.

“You need help,” Cas stated.

Dean felt his hackles go up at that. Cas managed to make everything sound like an insult.

“Yeah, I was wondering if I could borrow your air compressor for a bit. I have a flat,” Dean said. It was technically true. Cas didn’t need to know he had three others as well.

“I should charge you for that,” Cas said as if Dean was in there begging for a free hand out.

Dean glared at him in response, but choked out a, “Yeah, I get that.” Sam wouldn’t approve, but then again Sam was a pain in the ass most days.

Cas frowned at him and rubbed his hands over his rumpled, yet oddly clean uniform. He had a smear of grease on his left cheek that seemed out of place even with his general dishevelment. It was almost more like beauty mark than anything else. A male version of makeup put there for effect, purposely drawing attention to the way his dark stubble barely poked out from his pale skin.

“I am missing my rates chart,” Cas told him after a moment.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him to convey just how unimpressed he was with Castiel’s disorganization.

“Don’t you have it in your computer?” Dean asked not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He’d bet money the guy didn’t. He was just like Dad, only given the blank quality of his stare, there was a good chance the asshole was a stoner instead of a drunk.

“I… yes. There should be rates in there.”

“Oh, that’s good. I wouldn’t want you to totally lose your… way of life because you couldn’t remember what to charge your willing customers,” Dean snapped.

“And what about you, Dean Winchester? Are you worried about losing your way?” Castiel asked as he fumbled with the computer.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your fucking business,” Dean replied. Talking to Cas always ended like this. No matter the topic, he’d try to start some sort of bullshit conversation with Dean that intimated that he and his chosen vocation were somehow deficient. Like Dean was meant for a greater purpose and was just slacking off by taking care of Sam and the family estate.

Cas, as always, seemed irritated at first. It always made Dean feel good to see that he’d garnered an emotion out of the guy. He was the only one in town to ever succeed at getting through the calm exterior. Then again, Sam usually argued that Dean was the only one to do that because Dean was the only one who purposely tried to goad the poor mechanic out of his robotic trance.

“You should watch your brother more carefully,” Cas advised.

And that was it. Dean could take Cas’s innuendo and his snide comments. He could handle the personal slights and the, the creepy atmosphere of his not quite right garage, but he would absolutely not listen to anybody tell him how to take care of his own brother.

It might have been years since Dean had gotten into a fist fight, but his body was still as strong if not even more muscular than that of his nineteen year old self. His fists tightened in Castiel’s blue-gray uniform, and he hauled the shorter man to him.

There was no fear in those damned blue eyes, but there was confusion and a touch of surprise. Dean mentally crowed at getting a new expression on that pretty face.

“Listen and listen good you worthless, untalented jerk,” Dean growled, “You don’t say anything about Sam. You got that?”

Castiel stared up at him almost uncomprehendingly before he pushed back. For a man who didn’t have Dean’s bulk, he was surprisingly strong. Dean skidded backwards up against the trunk of a blue Ford Taurus, his brown leather dress shoes leaving him with little traction on the smooth surface of the garage floor.

Cas’s face didn’t look the least bit perturbed, but it sure looked shocked when Dean launched himself back. It was almost as if Cas didn’t think Dean had it in him.

They grappled for a bit, neither really gaining the upper hand. Finally when Cas pushed, Dean pulled instead, toppling them over onto the floor. Even with his reflexes long out of practice, Dean rolled them so that he was on top.

As he pulled his fist back to finally, finally punch the smug fucker’s overly attractive face, his body rocked backwards for better leverage, and his ass rubbed against something that was probably not a wrench in Castiel’s pocket. Cas looked about as confused as Dean felt. It was like neither of them knew how that got there or what to do about it.

Because Dean had never once in his life, either as a troubled teen or a nerdy adult, learned that playing with fire was bad, he rolled his hips back against the hardness. The two of them had to be making a ridiculous picture. Dean’s arm was still drawn back in the air ready to punch, and Castiel was laid out flat beneath him.

Cas’s blue eyes fluttered a little as Dean rubbed against him, and a little grunt of pleasure made its way out of his lips. And damn if Dean’s own cock didn’t start to stiffen at the noise. He could feel heat seeping through his thin dress slacks where their bodies were touching, and he couldn’t seem to stop rolling his hips.

The seam of his pants rubbed against his cock as it hardened, and he could feel Castiel’s own erection grow even through the layers of fabric separating them.

“Dean,” Cas’s gritty voice whimpered. An actual whimper, not a flat statement, and there was no Winchester added to it, just Dean’s name.

Dean’s hand fell out of its fist and dropped to his side. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss Cas, but his dick definitely wanted to fuck him. It wasn’t his normal modus operandi when doing a pick up by any means. Dean liked kissing. It was ingrained in him by pretty high school girls and prettier college boys. It was maybe a little bit of a learned behavior because he always got compliments on his lips and his kissing, so he liked to focus on that.

But, as physically appealing as he found the man under him, there was still that current of anger. For all Dean knew, it was all anger fueling this. They could both just be sexually frustrated, and their adrenaline from the fight might be channeling itself into sex as a more acceptable means of settling things.

Christ did he need to get out of the informational sections of the library. Psychology books were just no good for enjoying a good, old fashioned fuck.

Castiel’s hands had crept up to Dean’s thighs and were kneading at the muscles there. It felt good, but it also felt like a tease. Dean’s hard on was right there, and Cas was obviously, purposely not touching it. That was just not cool in Dean’s book. He was giving the guy a lap dance, and he wasn’t getting anything in return.

Dean ground down a little harder than necessary, and Cas gasped, but his face only showed surprise and bewilderment, not pain. It figured that the bastard liked a little kink with his pleasure.

Dean leaned forward to run his hands up Cas’s uniform front, the material was still that odd mixture of soft and stiff that only a new suit would be. It seemed weird that it was new given the general appearance of untidiness that Cas seemed to have, but Dean supposed that even deadbeat mechanics had to get fresh duds sometime.

Castiel’s hands slid farther up to grab at Dean’s hips. Their eyes met, and for a moment they both froze as they stared at each other.

Then Cas broke the silence, “You are being reckless.”

Dean snorted and pulled at the snaps holding the front of Cas’s uniform closed.

“And you’re being an ass. An egotistical, know-it-all ass who thinks he’s better than he really is.”

“You could be doing better,” Castiel said slowly as his hands slid their way from Dean’s hips to the buckle of his belt.

The words were annoying, but the movement was encouraging, so Dean chose not to go back to the pummeling plan.

“Better than you?” he chose to quip instead. “I agree. I could do so much better, but lucky for you, I’ve got a thing for losers.”

Castiel frowned and fumbled with Dean’s zipper. “I do not understand,” he told him, and Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was talking about Dean’s words or the fasteners to his pants. It seemed to be a tossup.

“I bet you don’t,” Dean retorted as he yanked the front of Cas’s uniform open. The plain shirt underneath didn’t have sweat marks or oil stains on it, and that bothered Dean. It didn’t seem right to him that Cas should be so clean. It was at odds with the grease and the cars. Like something was more off about the situation than just the mechanic’s general unsociability.

“Dean,” Cas rasped again.

If Castiel’s voice disrupted Dean’s train of thought, the hand sliding into his pants made it completely derail. It had been far too long since Dean had indulged in anything other than self-provided pleasure. Ever since Sammy had first been hospitalized for his seizures, Dean had been staying home nights instead of dating. He had offers, sure, but he worried about Sam having a fit at the top of the stairs or in the shower and both of them were too stubborn by far to hire a nurse or a sitter to watch for Sam while Dean went out hunting tail.

Of course, Sam disagreed that he needed watching at all and took every opportunity to remind his brother that he was an oversexed fiend who was unbearably crabby when he wasn’t getting laid. Dean usually ignored that, not because it wasn’t true, but because he was older and knew better, and a case of blue balls was so not worth his little brother’s life.

But now, now he had a warm hand curling around his cock and stroking it. There were calluses on the hand that were rubbing in the right places, but they felt off balance. They felt familiar in the way that Dean’s own calluses did. Like Cas had spent more time holding a pencil than he did a wrench.

Dean shook his head and pushed into the grip. He wasn’t a girl that needed to be thinking during sex, and he wasn’t going to waste his time worrying about what it said that a mechanic was spending more time with a writing implement than the tools of his actual trade.

Hopefully it meant that Cas was just a bad mechanic who didn’t get a lot of jobs and spent too much time doing a crossword puzzle. If he wasn’t getting much business, then he’d have to close up shop, and Dean might even get some nice equipment from the going out of business sale.

Castiel ran his thumb over the tip of Dean’s cock, and it distracted Dean from the other hand that sneaked around to grip his backside. For a moment he was consumed with the pleasure of it all before Cas’s fingers started delving into Dean’s crack to trace over his hole.

That was so not going to happen. He’d given it up plenty of times, and he might have more fancy clothes in his closet than he liked to admit, but he’d be damned if he turned bitch for some bland, second rate grease monkey.

With a growl, Dean rocked back onto his heels, ripping the snaps on Cas’s jumper open as he went. He shuffled backwards on his knees until he was straddling Cas’s legs and staring at the guy’s plain white boxers. The thin cotton material was strained by the length of Cas’s erection, and Dean wasted no time yanking the elastic band down to expose it.

Cas’s cock sprung free with a little jiggle. It was red and angry looking, jutting straight out just as unobtrusive as its owner was in life. It was neither long nor short, thin nor wide. It was, quite frankly, the epitome of a normal dick. It was as bland as its owner’s normal expression. If it weren’t for the bead of precome at the tip of it and its overall color, Dean would swear he was looking at boring old morning wood.

He flicked his eyes up so he could watch Cas’s face when he made whatever witty comment he could about Cas’s manhood, but the words died on his lips before they had a chance to form. Castiel was propped up on his elbows, staring intently at his own cock like he’d never seen it before. He was biting down on his bottom lip, and his eyes were darting nervously from Dean’s mouth to the tip of his cock over and over again.

“Oh, so it’s that way is it?” Dean teased as he ran his hand up the length of Cas’s erection.

Cas groaned a little, that deep throaty growl somehow even deeper than it was before, and his hips pushed up into Dean’s grip. The bunched up material of his boxers and uniform made the picture obscene. Cas’s undershirt came all the way down to his bellybutton, and the elastic of his boxers was caught right underneath his balls. His jumper was open, but his arms were still in its sleeves, so the only thing that was truly exposed on him was his dick.

“Dean,” Cas said again, although this time it had the distinct tone of, “please,” in it.

Dean Winchester was many things, but he wasn’t generally mean, so he bent down and gently blew across the tip. Cas groaned and pushed up towards Dean’s mouth, and when the wet head brushed against Dean’s lips, he obligingly opened his mouth to let it in.

He sucked at the crown for a while and Cas moaned and panted. The more of him that Dean swallowed, the more that his dark head thrashed form side to side, and he muttered in half bitten words that didn’t even sound like they were in English.

Dean pulled up a bit to fit his hand around the base of Cas’s cock, and gently worked the shaft while his tongued and licked the head. Castiel’s hand found its way into Dean’s hair, but he didn’t tug or try to direct, so Dean ignored it as it petted restlessly at him.

“Dean, I…” Cas rumbled, and Dean smiled. It was funny that of all of the men he’d blown, Cas would one of the few who actually took time to warn of impending climax. It seemed out of character, but Dean took note anyway.

Sealing his lips over the head, Dean sucked hard. He threw his arm over Castiel’s hips to keep him from thrusting down his throat, and had to struggle to pin those hips down when he started to come.

For the wiry build of the guy, he was surprisingly strong, but Dean had great technique even if he was a little rusty. As the bitter taste of come filled his mouth, he fought off the desire to swallow or spit, capturing it inside before pulling off and milking the last of the spunk from Cas with his other hand, watching as the white drops splattered on an otherwise pristine uniform.

Castiel’s gaze was vacant again, but this time it was the glassy sort of vacant that said he’d just gotten his brain sucked out through his dick. Dean resisted the urge to smirk and instead flipped the man over onto his stomach.

Cas hissed as his soft dick made contact with the cold and clean cement floor. He pushed up onto his knees, and Dean took the opportunity to grab hold of the back of his uniform and tug at the shoulders of it.

Cas struggled to get away for a second before he seemed to realize what Dean was attempting to do. His struggles turned to assistance as he wriggled his arms out of the sleeves.

The uniform fell down with the weight of gravity and the help of Dean’s hands. It pooled at Cas’s knees, and Dean tugged the boxers down to meet it, exposing the pale skin of Cas’s backside to the cool air of the garage.

Dean pushed at Cas’s shoulders, and he bent forward quickly, going from being upright on his knees to being on his hands and knees, ass up in the air.

He spit into his hand, and yeah, using another guy’s come to fuck was kind of gross and a bit of an asshole thing to do, but it wasn’t like everything was hearts and roses with Cas, and Dean wasn’t the dog he once was. Yes, there was a condom in his wallet, but he’d long since quit carrying lube with him wherever he went.

“Be grateful I’m not using grease.” Dean muttered half to Cas and half to himself to make the weird guilt go away.

He could see Cas’s head tilt in that stupid, irritating way of his. Even from the back it was annoying, and Dean lost his desire to be a better and classier person. He pushed a slick finger into Cas’s entrance, and the lack of resistance to the intrusion was amazing. By the time he made it to three fingers, he was convinced that Cas’s callused fingers weren’t the result of too many crossword puzzles so much as they were the consequence of constantly shoving sex toys up his ass.

Dean had never met somebody who could just take it like that, and his dick was uncontrollably hard at the thought of pushing in there. Still, he forced himself to scissor and spread, because easy though Cas seemed to be, Dean wasn’t that guy that tore his partner apart on his cock.

When he was satisfied with his stretching, Dean fumbled to drag his wallet out of his pants. The condom inside was new, sadly replacing one that had expired before getting rolled onto a stiffy, and the smell of its fresh latex made him antsy.

He rolled it onto his cock with practiced efficiency, and barely thought to spit onto his hand to give it a little slick before he couldn’t restrain himself any longer and lined up to push in. Despite the stretching, Cas was still tight as he thrust in. He was tight and gloriously warm, and Dean had to admit that he really fucking missed fucking.

“Fuck,” he moaned as he rocked his way farther in. Cas pushed back against him almost eagerly, opening up under the pressure like he was a porn star.

“You doing okay?” Dean asked out of habit when he bottomed out.

“I am not doing anything.” Cas responded with a tone of voice that spoke of confusion.

Dean tried to think with something other than his dick, but his brain didn’t want to comprehend anything other than the fact that he was penetrating somebody else. He leaned forward and fumbled around Cas’s middle to try to make things a little more fun for the guy, only to find that Cas’s unremarkable dick was already back up and running, hard and eager if the way that it twitched in Dean’s grasp was any indication.

Huh. Maybe the guy wasn’t a native English speaker. He didn’t have an accent, but that might be where all the bad communication and the funky name came from.

“You are going to move, yes?” Cas interrupted Dean’s thoughts with something close to irritation in his voice.

“Maybe I like to do it tantric style.” Dean shot back.

“You should have mentioned that then. I would have…”

Dean slid out and rammed back in. Honestly, he could care less what Cas would’ve done because the bastard just kept pushing at his buttons.

Cas let out what sounded like a satisfied moan, and Dean found that he could finally agree with the guy on something. Ruthlessly, he pounded hard into Cas, his hips snapping with tight, short thrusts. He could see the reflection of them in a nearby hubcap. Him still in his stupid glasses, Cas on his hands and knees, both of them still in their shirts with their pants and underwear trapped around their knees.

With the way they were restrained by their own clothing, there wasn’t much farther that either of them could spread their legs, but thankfully what they had was enough. Cas’s muscles seized as he came for a second time, Dean’s hand wrapped firmly around his length. The slight tightening of his channel put Dean right over the edge, and he pushed into the snug heat one last time as he came, feeling the wet, clinging sensation of a used condom for the first time in forever.

Instead of letting himself soften inside, Dean forced himself to pull out and be a gentleman. He took the condom off and knotted it, averting his eyes from the red pucker of the hole he’d just used.

He stumbled to his feet, pulled his pants up and disposed of the condom in a nearby trash can, wrapping it up in a disposable rag before he threw it away just in case the garbage man got snoopy.

When he turned around, Cas was sitting propped up against the fender of the Taurus. His uniform and underwear were still around his knees. He looked debauched and, as always, confused.

Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. Normally he’d just leave after having the kind of sex he’d just had. He’d leave and wait until enough time had passed for them both to pretend that it never happened. But that wasn’t an option, because he still needed to get the air compressor, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice his baby’s rims because he didn’t want to endure an awkward, post coital chat.

“So,” he started out vaguely.

“I like your glasses.” Cas blurted out, like that was the foremost thing on his mind.

“Thanks? I got them down at Dr. Melrude’s office. I’m sure that he…”

“I like them on you. They make me feel funny when I look at you.” Cas interrupted.

“Oh,” Dean replied. He wondered if maybe Cas was touched in the head. He was a touched in the head foreigner, and Dean had just fucked him with him.

Cas stared at him for a while, then blinked. “You wanted my air compressor. It is over there.”

Dean looked over at the wall and sure enough, the air compressor was leaning against it just as clean as the rest of the shop. Cas didn’t move from where he was reclining, still exposed, against the car, so Dean walked over to it.

“I’ll get it back as soon as possible.” He said as he bent over to pick it up.

He heard the strangest rustling sound, almost like a giant pair of wings, and the next thing he knew, Cas’s hand was rubbing over his ass.

“This is also very nice.” Cas told him.

Dean spun around to glare at the mechanic, but Cas wasn’t leering or smirking or anything other than looking his normal bland and sincere self. His uniform was back to its normal, disheveled yet clean state though, so at least Dean knew what the rustling noise was.

“You should come over. Again. Perhaps on your lunch break. We could discuss matters of importance.” Cas offered.

“Right,” Dean smirked, “matters of importance. Like what, Cas?”

“I don’t… do you believe in the Apocalypse, Dean Winchester?”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Cas, dude, your technique needs work. If you want to take me out to lunch, maybe we should start with something a little easier. Like, ‘What’s your favorite car?’”

“I already know that. Why would I ask a question I know the answer to?”

Dean sighed. “But I don’t know yours. Look, Cas, I’m not sure how things are in your homeland, but us Americans like a little small talk first.”

“How did you know?” Cas asked, his eyes widening in alarm.

“That you’re foreign? Dude, it’s pretty obvious. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go blabbing to the locals or anything. I know how they can be.”

“Yes. Thank you. I would very much like to not have them know.”

Dean felt a little bad for the guy at that. It had been hard enough moving to town when they were from out of state, he could only imagine how it was for a guy that was from another country.

“Look, I’d buy you dinner, but…”

“You eat dinner at home.” Cas filled in for him.

“Yeah, and well, Sam…”

“You do not wish to leave your brother unattended because of his condition.”

“Right. So you know that isn’t going to change anytime soon, and…”

“I am fine with having dinner with Samuel present.”

“Are you going to let me finish my own sentences?” Dean snapped.

Castiel shrugged “I do not see a reason for simple chatter when I already have the answer. I would like to have dinner with you. I will see you tonight. You may return my compressor at that time.”

The mechanic walked away without so much as another word, and Dean shook his head and took the compressor back to the Impala only to find Sam leaning against it.

“Get your ass off of her, Sasquatch. I don’t need you hurting her any more than you already have.”

“So, you were over there for a while. You and Cas kiss and make up?” Sam asked, his face innocent, but his eyes naughty.

Dean sighed and shoved his brother away from his car. “I didn’t kiss him.”

“But?”

“But he’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Dean muttered.

“Just dinner?” Sam asked nonchalantly.

“Sam,” Dean growled threateningly.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m not the one with the, ‘I just got laid’ strut and the reek of sex on me.” Sam pointed out.

“You don’t even know how much I hate you right now.” Dean said.

“You love me, and if you ask nice, I’ll make pie for you and Cas.”

Dean bit his lip, but protested just on principle. “I don’t know if Cas likes pie.”

“That’s the point of dating, Dean, to find this stuff out.”

“Fine. Make me a pie. Whatever. Just go away.” Dean mumbled, giving off as many unfriendly vibes as possible to get Sam to leave him alone.

As Sam’s footsteps indicated he was vamoosing, Dean sneaked a peek over at the garage. Cas had the hood of the Taurus popped open, and was staring at the wrench in his hand like it had somehow just materialized there by itself, and Dean wondered what exactly he thought he was doing.

Then Cas bent over, and his uniform pulled snug across his ass, and Dean didn’t wonder anymore.


End file.
